


stop the world from turning

by iCeDreams



Series: Bunker Files [Castiel] [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: COVID-19, Canon Compliant, Cas POV, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Quarantine & Chill (Supernatural), Quarantine, Season/Series 15, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iCeDreams/pseuds/iCeDreams
Summary: Castiel’s long existence is defined by blocks of time he’s carved out for himself.As an angel, he was part of the Host, but never quite one of them. Now, in the bunker with the Winchesters and Jack, it’s time to fill the empty spaces the Host left with the family he’s chosen.OR… a look at what Castiel does for 24 hours with stay-at-home orders in the Men of Letters Bunker.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Bunker Files [Castiel] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072412
Comments: 35
Kudos: 124
Collections: ProfoundBond Exchange: Quarantine & Chill, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazshero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazshero/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Season 14 gag reel](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/633559) by CW. 



> For the PB exchange. This round I was given [kazshero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazshero/pseuds/kazshero) who requested for: mutual pining, coda, soulmates, dadstiel, tfw, anything honestly with possible hugs/comfort, domesticness, canon, hands, wings, anything really!
> 
> Thanks so much fo my beta readers: [a-studentharmony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_qualitystudentharmony), [FreezingAlyce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingAlyce/pseuds/FreezingAlyce), and alpha Yasirya with Jaeh. One sentence edits from the lovely [goldenraeofsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun). Also to the wonderful people at Destiel Forever FB group, who always sends prompts. Finally, thanks for another round of exchange PB! You're the BEST.
> 
>   
> Commissioned from the talented pen of [Borg](https://borgsinaban.com/)  
> 

00:00

Everybody’s day begins when they wake up—but not for Castiel, who doesn’t need to sleep. His day starts when everybody’s ends, when the entire bunker is asleep, when even Jack needs _some_ rest.

Castiel moves from room to room to check the warding and tidies the insignificant things that Sam, Dean, or Jack have forgotten lying about. Castiel doesn't touch the garage where Dean would most assuredly get annoyed at any disruption. (I knew where they were placed _before_ you moved them.) Castiel dusts, puts away books, and washes dishes.

Castiel passes by Dean’s room. He misses the side table that Dean brought from Castiel’s temporary room to embellish Dean’s when Cas had been human. Once Castiel had regained his grace, the table quietly disappeared.

Though Dean has repeatedly told him that watching Dean sleep is ‘creepy,’ Castiel believes that there is merit to checking in on him. It’s been years since Dean has cried out to be raised from hell, but Castiel is so used to the routine that he doesn’t resist its pull.

Dean is restful in his slumber, calm, when ordinarily the tension adds years to the corners of his eyes. He breathes deep, one hand under his pillow, where his favorite gun is placed and the other thrown to the empty space in his soft and comfortable bed. Castiel scans his surface thoughts, peaceful dreams that Castiel doesn’t try to interpret and extracts himself slowly.

“BEREGIDA ASCHA, Dean,” Castiel whispers.

Dean grumbles and turns into the space before Castiel leaves. He checks on Jack and Sam next, who are both still asleep, and continues with his nighttime chores.

03:00

Castiel has taken to sewing homemade masks while taking a break from cleaning. A pandemic is sweeping across the world, and masks could extend some healthcare worker’s personal protective equipment. He has the time to spare and the skills to do it, so he sews. Mostly he finds old shirts that Dean and Sam have discarded or are too riddled with holes to use, and there are plenty. If he still has some scraps, he personalizes each mask with a flower. He often glues on a bee appliqué; embroidery would have worked better, but it compromised the cloth.

His sewing skills might be rusty, but he’s improved from his first—mangled and misshapen—to his current design. The bunker doesn’t have a sewing machine, so Castiel does everything by hand. It is slow going, but he’s proud of his work, and he finishes a couple before he sets out to clean today’s project: the dungeon.

04:00

It’s Jack who always wakes up first. The nephilim doesn’t require as much sleep as humans and his initial task is usually to look for Castiel. Jack finds him kneeling on the dungeon floor, scraping stubborn candle wax from the cement.

“Good morning!” Jack says sunnily as he kneels down beside Castiel’s crouched form. 

They’ve been stuck in the bunker for three weeks now since the stay-at-home orders blared from all corners of America, and Jack hasn’t lost his customary good cheer. 

Castiel has been scanning for any supernatural movement. Because everyone is stuck at home, the usual predators have also been finding it hard to wreak havoc on the populace. What few ghost hunts remain, Castiel and Jack dismiss summarily. It has caused Dean to be a little short-tempered.

Abandoning the butter knife, Castiel wipes his hands and the floor before motioning to Jack. “Did you sleep well?”

“The best!” Jack grins as they make their way to an empty patch where previous demon’s circles haven’t marked yet.

“We should try the standard demon trap today then,” Castiel says absentmindedly. At the same time, Jack takes one of the many discarded chalks from a tin can they’ve conveniently placed at the edge of the room.

Jack furrows his brows in concentration. He starts with the Aquarian star, followed by the various Latin scriptures required for the trap. Because Jack appears fully grown, it’s very easy to forget that he’s just two. He needs training and practice with his spell crafting.

Castiel takes the time to review the figures each morning with the nephilim. Demon traps and angel sigils are an excellent starting point to teach children foreign languages and geometry. They cover both Latin and Enochian in one go. When Jack traces the sigils without hesitation, Sam, the next of their little household to wake up, peeks in. He’s sleep rumpled but has on a gray tank top, jogging pants, and running shoes.

“Hey, Cas, you want to come with?” Sam invites, tilting his head to the door.

Castiel frowns, aligning his grace with the time and noting that it is almost 5 o’clock. “Do you want to continue, Jack?”

“Oh, go ahead, I’ll practice the edges of the sigil,” Jack says as he bites his lip and examines the marks.

“Don’t work yourself too hard,” Castiel advises when he stands up and surveys the demon trap. “Be sure to make your lines—“

“Solid and precise,” Jack finishes, imitating Castiel’s low growl, his hands in his pockets like Castiel is prone to do. “I know. See you after your jog.”

Sam is grinning at the doorway, not having anything to contribute to the conversation but goodbye for Jack, waving his flashlight.

Before they set out, Castiel swings by the kitchen to make sure the coffee maker has enough grounds for at least four cups and the timer at six. While Dean might not wake until well after the sun rises, it’s better to have a cup or two ready before then.

05:30

Running in a suit and an overcoat is very impractical, Castiel had learned early on. Sam had lent him basketball shorts, because they both learned anything Sam owned was too long, and wore a pilfered shirt from the laundry. Today it is AC/DC stretched over Jimmy Novak’s lean muscles.

It’s always easy to forget that Jimmy was tall and lithe. He has a runner’s physique, and he’d kept in shape despite the ill-fitting coat and suit. Castiel had been more than a thousand feet tall in his angelic form, but Sam easily towered over Jimmy. Castiel only thinks about it when he’s forced to move the awkward workings of his true form constrained by his vessel. He _doesn’t_ need to run for his health because his grace fixes most of anything for him. But, there is exhilaration from the exercise, and it’s one of the few moments that he gets time to talk alone with Sam.

“Do you think we’ll be able to go back to normal soon?” Sam asks, still not winded. They jog around the bunker’s property, which is all woodland and far from any of their neighbors. “I mean the entire Smith County only has two cases, and Kansas is planning to open the state in phases.”

Without hunts, Sam has been obsessively going over the statistics of the virus. He waits for daily updates in the county where Lebanon is. (Because if he doesn’t, he’ll start watching the presidential press conference, which is _more_ sickening than the actual pandemic.) He has alerts on his phone when a new case pops up in the vicinity, and so far, it has been silent. Corona has mostly spared Lebanon.

“Lebanon is rural, and you’re both young and healthy,” Castiel says slowly. He could heal both Sam and Dean if they get the virus. Castiel just doesn’t want to chance it with his failing grace. “The quarantine is more for the people of Lebanon. What’s more worrisome is the rest of the world. Millions will die, not because of this Corona but because of the effects of staying home. The numbers are… Biblical in its proportions. It’s full-on Old Testament wrath come to cleanse the world. The great flood, the ten plagues.”

Sam grunts in agreement before they stop at a verdant and wild sunflower field. Castiel lifts his face to the heavens, like the flowers receiving light. In a few seconds, the first blush of the sun peeks out from the horizon. It is a burnished red which spreads over the sky diffusing over the clouds with deep blues, purples, and pinks.

“You have impeccable timing,” Sam says, admiring the slowly moving sun and clicking off his light. “Even with this virus, I mean we still get moments like these, you know. It gives me hope.”

Hope is a very human construct. As an angel, there are orders, but they don’t want to become more than what they are. It causes them to stagnate. Lucifer is exemplary in his desire for the future. Maybe it’s why Castiel would rather have human values than angelic ones. Castiel taps one of the sunflower heads facing the sun. “Sunflowers are always trying to turn to the sun.”

When Sam straightens, he is already examining the flowers, nodding. “So get this, if they don’t find the sun, they face each other.”

Isn’t that another fact to be hopeful for? That there’s light in each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** BEREGIDA ASCHA, Dean = Sleep well, Dean  
> In case my HTML isn't working again.


	2. Chapter 2

06:30

When they reach the bunker, Sam disappears into the showers. Cas does not need to wash grime, nor does he sweat, but he follows Sam’s protocols and washes his hands before heading into the kitchen. 

Castiel tries to cook eggs and bacon. The operative word for this endeavor: try. He wants crispy bacon but ends up with either undercooked strips or close to blackened ones. Fumbling with the skillet, he attempts to tilt the pan and scoop some of the oil and cook the egg whites. 

He shifts his foot from side to side when he notices that the eggs are more crispy than soft and fluffy. He hangs his head as he decides to dump the endeavor in the bin when a robed arm stops the movement, takes the skillet, and pours the entire mix onto a heavy serving plate.

“Dean!” Castiel almost jumps, suddenly understanding why Dean kept saying he needed a bell all those years ago. He hunches his shoulders as heat tinges his cheeks, following Dean at the table. If Castiel could wring his grace to submission for failing to alert him, he would have. “I’m sure I can boil sausages or—“

“These are fine, Cas. I like my eggs crispy on the outside and gooey on the yolk,” Dean mutters, waving for Cas to sit down while he puts the pan away for washing.

Jack is sitting opposite with a cereal bowl and a carton of milk, spooning his breakfast into his mouth. Castiel hesitates, rubbing his hands, but follows the instructions. The eggs definitely still had a bit of raw white on it on top of almost burnt edges. Dean ignores all of that while inhaling his coffee and seats himself beside Castiel. 

Sam, freshly showered and changed into his standard flannel and a towel draped around his shoulders, bounds into the kitchen to sit beside Jack. He surveys the spread and frowns. “What the hell, Dean. Did you cook while—“

The table jars while Dean calmly sips the dregs of his coffee. He lifts a finger up, not even looking at Sam. “Stop whining, Sammy. You’d think you’re the one making food.”

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean glares him down, so he stands and rummages around their pantry, pulling out whole-wheat bread. 

“Get me some white bread, and none of your healthy crap.” Dean orders while Sam retrieves vegetables for a sandwich. “And a side of egg-oil-juice.”

“I understood the words,” Sam drawls, pausing to look at Dean boggled before he continues, “but somehow, I don’t really understand the sentence.”

“He means the mayonnaise,” Castiel clarifies. He’s already had this conversation with Dean over multiple sandwich-making experiments. Castiel has given up with trying to change anything Dean has dubbed with nicknames. This includes ridiculous foods that end up being more of a mouthful than the original words.

Jack spoons more cereal into his mouth, eyes hopping from one person to the next, watching everyone speaking. A spectator following the bouncing ball of a game.

That causes Sam to stop, muttering under his breath before he drops Dean’s request onto the table. Castiel sympathizes with Sam’s exasperation. Both with the name-calling and the healthy food choices. Truthfully, it’s a battle that they lost a long time ago. “Egg-oil-juice doesn’t even…”

“Would you rather he calls it the sticky-nut-juice, then?” Castiel asks innocently, watching in fascination as Sam chokes on nothing.

“Hey, sticky-nut-juice is peanut butter,” Dean points out. He unscrews the mayonnaise cap, topping his bread with the spread followed by the eggs and bacon. Castiel watches closely as he takes a bite. There is no gagging or otherwise ill effects to be had.

Shaking his head, Sam turns to Jack while he slaps on some lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles to his sandwich between the eggs and one strip of bacon. “So, what are you having for breakfast?”

“I got some nougat cereal,” Jack enthuses, swirling his spoon through the last spoonfuls of his milk.

“Oh,” Sam pauses, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, while Dean is silently devouring his own—as much as Dean is silent with his food. “I didn’t know that they actually made nougat cereal?”

“They don’t.” Jack pushes his bowl, and Castiel leans over to see. It’s milk littered with few pieces of nuts and spots of dark brown where chocolate has melted. “I chopped up a Snickers, Baby Ruth, and 3 Musketeers then put it in milk.”

“Good job!” Dean says through the last bites of his meal, giving Jack a thumbs up. Sam is mildly horrified, an accusatory look painted across his face directed at Dean. “What?”

Castiel clears his throat before they get into their brotherly bickering this early in the morning. Though it is expected with brothers living together well into their forties and in forced close quarters, it would set the mood for the rest of their day. “I was planning to go to the supermarket. We’re almost out of coffee and some fresh produce, so if you want anything, just write it down, and I’ll pick it up.”

Dean brushes his hands against each other, dusting the crumbs before getting up to put away his plate. “No offense, Cas, but the last time you went to the store to stock up, you had a large ass list, kept taking pictures asking if it’s the correct one. You even FaceTimed us, yet you still ended up with the wrong brand of sausage.”

Well, that is blatantly unfair. While Castiel acknowledges that Dean is particular with his food like he is with his car, the list had been weirdly specific.

“There was nothing bad with the Diestel sausages, Dean,” Sam points out, a wide, mischievous grin breaking from his face.

Dean rolls his eyes as he dumps his plate, then leans against the kitchen sink. “They were turkey sausages, Sam. He took an _age_ to buy things, and he _still_ ended up buying everything wrong. _And_ he forgot the tomatoes and potatoes.”

“He bought me an entire week’s worth of nougat, though!” Jack says happily, munching on a bar he hadn’t sacrificed to create the sweet monstrosity of his breakfast.

Sam laughs and reminds Dean, “He’s also never forgotten beer, Busty Asian Beauties, or _pie_.”

“We’ve been stuck here for _weeks_. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting antsy.” Dean swings his accusing glare from Sam to Castiel. “If you purge any nasties hitching a ride now and then purge them when I return, it _shouldn’t be a problem_.”

Which is practical and made sense. Castiel sighs and walks to Dean, he stops when they are almost nose to nose, trying to see past those green eyes. Dean obliges with a stare back, and they might have gone indefinitely if Sam hadn’t cleared his throat, his chair scraping on the bunker floor. 

Castiel brushes two fingers on Dean’s forehead. Thankfully, the hunter is virus-free. When he pulls his hand, Sam crowds against them to put his own plates on the sink. Castiel takes one careful step back, saying, “Don’t forget to wear a mask.” He searches his pocket and offers one of his homemade ones.

“I thought you just purged me!” Dean says, eying the yellow and black mask with distrust, arms still crossed. 

Sam smiles at the cheerful cloth but doesn’t butt in. He turns to their ancient cooler to scrounge several more vegetables and a few fruits and blend them together. Dean makes a face at the noise but ignores the now breakfast routine for Sam.

“You didn’t have it. But it would make others feel at ease,” Castiel argues reasonably, ignoring the blender. Dean takes the proffered cloth if a bit begrudgingly. “And you’ll have lesser chances to get it.”

Thereby saving Castiel’s use of his rapidly dwindling grace. Dean still had the pinched look of an argument brewing, but he pockets the mask. “Aren’t you coming with?”

Castiel blinks at the offer, not knowing how to respond. He assumed that the entire point of Dean going was because he didn’t want Castiel shopping for their groceries. “I thought the shelter-at-home was to implement social distancing. We can’t do that if there are more people at the store.”

“Oh, come on, you _know_ I’m safe, and you’re definitely safe,” Dean points out.

Sam’s already pouring his vegetable-fruit shake into a thick chunky tumbler. He insists it has all the essential nutrients and drinks it so he doesn’t feel guilty eating what Dean cooks. “Didn’t you want to finish cataloging the library with me, Cas? The governor advised going out singly anyway, and Dean’s practically volunteered.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times with that statement, at a loss. “You’d rather catalog the library?”

“That’s not what I said.” Castiel argues. On the one hand, he really wants to go with Dean to the store since there is no risk to them or anyone by shopping regardless of the public health concern. There’s only so much time you can spend in the bunker without going a little bit crazy, even if the bunker’s space is very forgiving. 

On the other hand, Dean is perfectly fine with being alone. He has a process that doesn’t involve a list. It is disorganized, random, and is prone to impulse buys. When Castiel peers into the cart, he finds an arbitrary assortment of foodstuffs nestled in the bottom. It’s puzzling because he’s sure that Dean doesn’t have wings, and couldn’t have gone past Castiel without his knowledge. That doesn’t even touch on the fact that Dean has some unknowable criteria for choosing his processed meat.

“I want to go to the store with you, Dean!” Jack pipes up when he takes his turn and dumps the plates on the sink. Jack, with his exclamation points and his naïve enthusiasm.

Dean lifts his chin up, his body tense. Castiel wants to take back the last few minutes and just agree to accompany him, but the moment has passed, and Dean is already butt-hurt. Any other claim to come would have been met with suspicion. Dean grunts. “Fine. Get ready to leave in thirty.”

08:00

Despite Sam’s invitation, Castiel doesn’t want to lose the early morning light for the garden. He declines the dusty books for now and settles on turning the earth. 

When he claimed a small patch of the bunker for his own needs, he’d planted flowers. He has two kinds for each season: hyacinth and wild lilac for spring, cosmos and foxglove for summer, zinnias and asters for fall, and the sunflowers to bring cheerfulness just because. They’re for the bees, so they’d have a place for nectar and visit. So Castiel could watch them dance.

Ever since this global lockdown loomed, Castiel has shifted. Oh, he still keeps flowers, but he has other things too. He grows beans on an old overgrown fence on the borders of the property. He has one zucchini bush that’s always prolific, and a couple of variants of tomatoes because Sam likes cherry and Dean prefers the Roma for his sauces. There’s plenty of space for Sam’s lettuce, a nook for herbs, and the rest of the sizable plot is for potatoes. 

So really, he doesn’t understand why Dean has taken an exception to forgetting to buy certain vegetables when he has perfectly good ones in his corner of the world.

After watering, he’s engrossed in the task of weeding and moving the crowded seedlings apart. The fresh earthy scent escapes the soil as he works on it, reminiscent of the soft rains during spring.

By the time that he’s moved on to harvesting, the rumble of the Impala breaks the relative quiet of the surrounding woodland. Predictably, Dean comes shuffling up the pathway instead of the discreet doorway that connects the garden to the bunker’s corridors. He presses a can of cold beer onto Castiel’s forehead while he is crouched over the onions.

Castiel welcomes the chill after staying out in the sun, accepting the peace offering and straightening to his full height. No matter how long Dean has gone from Castiel’s sight, it always surprises Castiel how brilliantly Dean’s soul shines when they meet. It pulses in welcome and a soft hello. Some people may wax poetic about Dean’s eyes, of their shade of green, but it’s overshadowed by the radiance of his soul.

Clearing his throat, Dean motions to his face vaguely. “You’ve got something…”

While Dean might be articulate most of the time, he loses his words at the most inopportune moments. It forces Castiel in a game of charades that he usually isn’t equipped to understand. Castiel squints at the man in question.

Dean steps forward, gently rubbing his thumb on Castiel’s cheek. He sighs before saying, “Did you really send out an eggplant and a peach emoji to my phone in the middle of a grocery run?” Dean’s cheeks are tinged with red, making his freckles stand out.

“I don’t grow eggplants, and Sam wanted some fruit.” Castiel includes the beer in his wicker basket, his hands too laden with soil to open the can. 

The explanation causes Dean’s expression to deflate but not lessen the reddening of his cheeks. “Of _course_ , that’s why you sent it.”

“Was there some other reason?” Castiel asks, detouring to the faucet Dean had installed near the edge of the garden to wash his hands. Now clean, he brushes his fingertips over Dean’s forehead, still clear of the virus, before he opens the can of beer. He revels in the fizz that trickles down his throat when he takes a gulp.

When he notices Dean’s attention, he smiles and tilts the can Dean’s way. “Do you want a sip?”

Dean’s voice is low and hoarse when he declines.

10:00

The strong cloying scent of bleach tickles both of their noses as Dean and Castiel enter the bunker. It causes Dean to sneeze worse than when he’s near a cat. Jack is putting away the groceries, and Sam is busy wiping all doorknobs and available surfaces. 

“Did you wash your hands before you entered?” Sam asks Dean with a hint of accusation.

Dean rolls his eyes but goes to the sink to wash, anyway. “Didn’t you hear the part where Cas said he could purge the virus?”

“He can’t be on angel disinfecting duty every hour, Dean!” Sam answers. He wrings the rag he’s soaked in his homemade solution and aggressively scrubs the surfaces Dean trod.

“You say that, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah.” 

“And why did you buy six packs of toilet paper, Dean?! This is not _beer_.”

“You’ll thank me when the world ends and you have toilet paper to wipe your ass with!”

“I cannot even… Dean there’s a shower, god forbid you learn how to soap your ass. You don’t even have enough friggin isopropyl alcohol, hand sanitizer, or Lysol!”

“Those aisles were empty!”

Castiel watches the bickering in amusement. He hands his vegetable-laden basket for Jack so he could wash its contents before Castiel heads to the showers. He might not need a bath to be clean, but there’s something satisfying in indulging from time to time.

The bunker’s bathroom is on the far side of the garage and is made with multiple shower heads for communal bathing. Castiel enjoys it on occasion. One thing Castiel misses is instantaneous travel. Absurdly, the showers remind him of this. It is like bathing in a tropical thunderstorm with its torrential and warm rains instead of the drizzles the continental United States offers. A sudden desperate urge overtakes him to spread his wings and clean them, like birds out on a rainy day. Unfortunately, his wings are tattered and metaphysical. It’s a luxury that he cannot indulge in.

He tilts his head up to meet the water, washing away most of this morning’s activities and leaving behind the fresh lime and cedarwood of Dean’s Old Spice.

11:00

As soon as Castiel re-emerges, Dean snags him in the corridor. Castiel raises an eyebrow because it’s out of character for Dean to do something so conspicuously. But Dean just shoves an entire pack of Baby Ruths at Castiel.

“Don’t let the kid see,” Dean mutters before casually strolling back towards his brother and Jack. The complete nonchalance is more suspicious than if he’d just palmed it to him in the kitchen. 

Sam and Jack both look up when they enter, and Jack says, “We’re cooking pizza for lunch, Cas. What toppings do you want?” There is already the marinara sauce, flour, and other ingredients strewn about the tabletop.

“Don’t you _dare_ say pineapple!” Dean pipes up as he brings out pre-made pizza dough from the pantry, dusting flour over the kitchen counter. “We’re loading this with meat.”

“Pizza is the unhealthiest food on the planet,” Sam complains, pulling out mixing bowls from the ancient cupboards for the ingredients. One good thing about the industrial kitchen is that it was designed to serve many people at once. They’ve never run out of mixing bowls. “The least we could do is just load it with vegetables.”

Castiel could see that the disagreement was going to erupt into another full-out bickering match between the brothers, and he quickly interjects, “How about we make small sized ones? Make multiple, so we get to choose ingredients on each?”

The brothers stop to consider his words before Dean replies with, “You know, that ain’t a bad idea.”

“An inventor’s pizza!” Jack leans forward eagerly, talking over Dean.

Sam lays the metallic ingredient bowls in rows of three on the stainless steel table and gives two sharp claps of his hands. “Okay, Dean, you’re in charge of the dough. Cas, you’re on sauce duty. Jack, you’re loading up the mozzarella. I’ll chop up ingredients that you want and put them in these.”

“Right, you bossy moose,” Dean mutters as he cuts the dough the size of gerbils and then stretches them out between the tops of his fingers, rotating the pizza as he goes. 

Dean deposits the finished stretched base to Castiel, who attempts to pour a spoonful of the tomato sauce and spread it. Castiel barely has the entire thing covered when Dean leans over, pizza dough on his knuckles, and says, “Do it in circular motions, Cas. If you put too much sauce, the dough’s gonna be wet and sticky, so make sure you can see the base.”

Sam doesn’t stop chopping his mushrooms when he says, “Dean, you are _such_ a backseat driver. Let him do it. It’s not the end of the world if your pizza is a little soggy.”

“And for that, you get the first piece,” Dean mutters when Castiel transfers his work to Jack, who smothers it with mozzarella he pinches off from a larger block.

Castiel watches Dean as he swipes the pizza dough from one hand to another. He then stretches it on top of his knuckles while doing a complicated set of throws. Dean has always been dexterous, and he shows off now by throwing the pizza in the air while it twirls. 

“Okay, Little Caesars, move it along.” Sam fills the stainless steel bowls with chopped kale without looking up. “That’s stretched already, you’re gonna poke holes in it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but passes his pizza to Castiel and starts another one. They get a system going until all five dough balls (one ends up stuck in the ceiling after a high toss, and they’re all ignoring it) have been stretched.

When they each have a portion of the dough, they start topping it off. Castiel crumbles some cooked hamburger (There will be meat on the table, Cas), kale chips, goat brie, peanut butter, and jam on his.

Dean’s pizza is unsurprising in its meaty load of burger pieces, bacon crumbles, and Italian sausages. Sam’s had spinach, arugula, tomatoes, mushrooms, and brie. Jack keeps it simple with four different types of cheese.

While they’re all waiting for the pizza to bake in the massive bunker oven, they wipe down surfaces and put away the ingredients. Somehow, what was supposed to be clean up turns into a huge food fight. Castiel doesn’t understand how it began, but they’ve all taken corners in the kitchen to get out of the projectiles’s way. Dean throws a bit of flour towards Sam, and he retaliates by throwing a handful of baking powder back. By the time the oven timer interrupts them, they’re all covered in flour and grinning like madmen.

Jack is entirely white, the flour covering his face, having taken a full shot to his face. Sam has some leftover dough on his hair, from pizza on the ceiling coming down at an inopportune moment. Dean has some tomato sauce splatter, and Cas is relatively unscathed, having received peltings of wilted greens. 

Sam groans when he washes his hands, combing his fingers through his hair. “There’s a meat shortage in America right now.”

“Which is why we used leftover flour and whatever you were throwing out,” Dean says testily as he deposits the baking sheet with their meal in the middle of the kitchen table. “Here you go, delivery from the pizza man.”

“Ugh, Dean!” Sam protests, but is summarily ignored.

The baked crust with melted cheese wafts over them, causing all their stomachs to rumble in answer. They each get a piece and taste, Dean leaning back in contentment as he scarfs down his.

“This makes me very happy,” Castiel rumbles after he finishes a slice.

Dean wipes his fingers across his jeans. Sam notices and mutters, “Ugh, gross, Dean, you have napkins on the table.” He shoves a handful at his brother before he munches on his own slice.

Dean shakes his head and takes several to tuck under his plate before he reaches for a piece of Castiel’s creation and tastes it thoughtfully. “It ain’t half bad. I kinda expected the peanut butter and jelly to flop.”

Castiel smiles, pleased, and offers the remaining two slices to Jack and Sam, who agree with the assessment. They eat and talk with mild teasing until they’re heavy with food and warm from each other’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Inventor's Pizza recipe can be found in the [Adventurous Eater’s Club](https://smile.amazon.com/Adventurous-Eaters-Club-Mastering-Mealtime/dp/0062876880/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3PYLUBRD0BDA2&dchild=1&keywords=adventurous+eaters+club+cookbook&qid=1592237576&sprefix=adventurous+eater%2Caps%2C349&sr=8-1). Castiel, Sam, and Dean's individual pizzas are based on toppings from Misha Collin's interview with [TV Guide](https://youtu.be/nDE4qsXfXqs) where they make the pizza onscreen. Except for pickles, because Dean will never eat pickles… so I couldn’t have that on Cas' pie.
> 
> Castiel texting Dean eggplant and peach emoji (🍆🍑) was inspired by anyrei’s [chibi art](https://anyreiart.tumblr.com/post/188718598106/inktober-31-eggplants-and-peaches).


	3. Chapter 3

13:00

After a second shower for the day, they each retire to their own corner of the bunker. Castiel spends some time with Jack in the library, and they end up in companionable silence as Castiel searches for cases again.

Jack interrupts Castiel with a strangled groan.

“Is something the matter?” Castiel asks, concerned at the sudden whitening of Jack’s knuckles as he grips the table.

“My stomach feels heavy.” Jack turns his own laptop around, so it faces Castiel. “Bing says it’s early stages of Coronavirus, and I’m going to _die_.”

“Why are you receiving death threats from Bing?” Castiel crouches towards Jack, crowding him against his chair. “Who is this?”

Dean, who’s come in from the corridor searching them out, starts a choking, hacking cough that interrupts Castiel’s scrutiny. “Uh, it’s a search engine, Cas.”

“Oh?” Castiel smiles, slapping Jack’s back forcefully. “You likely ate too much pizza, Jack.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asks, confused as Castiel shakes his head. “Did you just make a joke? Was that a joke?”

Sam comes in moments after another towel on his shoulders, preventing his damp hair from dripping on to his shirt. He tilts his head towards the hallway in question.

“No cases online. Dean, you should drink water for that cough. Did you want me for anything?” Castiel asks curious as he stretches his back, cramped from the hour-long work in the library. Though the chairs are veritable antiques, wooden and are aesthetically pleasing, the library could use a more ergonomic design. Dean shakes his head, so Castiel turns to Sam. “We should continue with that catalog now that you removed all the pizza from your hair.”

Sam groans, his fingers passing through his hair self-consciously. “I’m never completely getting it out of my hair. It’ll take _forever_.”

14:00

When Castiel and Sam take a break from the monotonous work, Dean is still sitting with Jack as he mutters over the keyboard. He’s aggressively typing and shaking his head.

“Dean?” Castiel asks. Dean doesn’t turn to acknowledge, but Jack waves them over.

“Dean and I Googled stuff instead of using Bing,” Jack babbles, almost vibrating with the news in contrast to his usual stillness. “We Googled your name, and he’s correcting Castiel’s Wikipedia article.”

“I can’t believe you never corrected this. What’s this crap, why is your name misspelled?” Dean thunders, pointing wildly at the screen.

Castiel walks over curiously with Sam not long behind, as they peer over Dean’s shoulders along with Jack.

“Oh,” Castiel says, reading over the information on Cassiel. “This is a different angel. This name means ‘Speed of God’ while mine means ‘God’s shield’. I don’t warrant a Wikipedia article. Also, they have the entire Saturday. I’m Thursday.”

“What?” They all ask dumbfounded with various levels of incredulity at the news.

While everyone else processes that, Dean calls in a new window and abandons his edits. “We are making you a Wikipedia page. What do you mean the Angel of Saturday gets an entire webpage, and you don’t? That’s absurd.”

Castiel leans over and stills Dean by touching the back of his hand lightly. “It will also make it easier for my enemies to find me.”

“I’ll just add that you like burgers and have a ridiculous flasher coat. That’s not relevant to _anyone_ finding you,” Dean argues.

Sam sounds like he is choking again. Jack pipes up, “Well, someone could search burger receipts and tan overcoat in recognition software, and pinpoint it easily.”

Dean pouts, but he lets it go. He focuses instead on Sam, who keeps swiping on his face, to get his hair out of the way causing Dean to shake his head.

“You need a haircut, man,” Dean comments.

The Winchesters both need haircuts. With the quarantine closing down barber shops, Dean’s usual close-cropped hair has become shaggy, Sam’s has reached his shoulders, and Jack’s is slightly more rumpled than usual. Casitel’s grace has kept his the same length for the time being. It’s one of those things that hasn’t bothered him along with shaving.

Sam grimaces. Castiel waits on the possibility of the rare event that Sam agrees with Dean on the length of his hair. Predictably, the younger man just shakes his head. “It can wait. But you’re closer to unkept than ruggedly shaggy.” He takes an elastic and scrunches the fistful in a short ponytail, which solves his problem.

Castiel squints at Dean’s head. “I could try for you, but only if you sign a contract stronger than a demon deal that you won’t get mad whatever the end results are.”

Sam snorts through his laughter, but Jack is enthusiastic with his support, grabbing the laptop and helpfully showing them YouTube videos of how to cut the hair properly. “It’s going to grow back,” Jack says.

It’s how Castiel found himself alone with Dean in the bunker’s shower room. Sam and Jack had trailed in initially, but Dean had gotten so tense with the audience, that Castiel had suggested mildly for them to see the recent episodes of NatGeo.

Dean looked incredulous, but Sam took it for what it was and dragged an eager Jack along. There’s still nervous energy around Dean when Castiel takes a spray bottle and wets the tips of Dean’s hair, not trusting himself to wash it with their equipment. 

“You’re worried I’ll do it wrong,” Castiel says, rubbing the fine hairs at the back of Dean’s surprisingly delicate neck.

“Nah, Cas, Jack’s right, it’ll grow back.” Dean fidgets in the stool they dragged from the garage. Its metal scraping against the tiled floor. “But they might return.”

Dean is unused to attention and doesn’t want it. Castiel responds by massaging his shoulders inexpertly, mimicking the shows he’s seen on TV. Despite that, Dean sways slowly, closing his eyes, his breaths deepening. Castiel runs a hand through Dean’s dirty-blond hair, causing Dean to shudder minutely. 

Castiel works his way through the strands, carefully following the videos and tipping Dean’s chin to see the cut’s angle. Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but he swallows, unconsciously leaning towards where Castiel moves, his breathing ragged. Silence fills the room except for the soft snips from the barber’s scissors Sam lent Castiel from his own stock. There is an intimacy in and trust while being close to a sharp object but staying still.

When Castiel finishes, he stands in front of Dean. He pulls the white sheet they used to protect Dean from the clippings with a flourish. Dean is slow to blink open, and Castiel cups his face, dragging his fingers carefully against the scrape of his day-old beard. 

Castiel catalogs the divots of Dean’s face, the dips of his dimples, freckles dusting his nose and cheeks while taking in the symmetry of his form. There’s no technique in this military cut, but it did somewhat expose Dean and made him look vulnerable. Or maybe it is just now that Castiel notices, while they are staring at each other as they’ve done countless times before.

“Oh, wow, Cas! It’s great!” Jack praises, coming in from the doorway. Dean’s head snaps towards the door, his spine rigid.

It breaks the moment, and Castiel busies himself with cleaning the floor and the scissors. Sam has a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing with an almost forced laughter. Dean looks down at his hands, clenched at his knees, his face flushed.

“Do you… Not like it?” Jack asks with uncertainty when he notices.

Dean stands to peek at a mirror before shaking his head. “Nah, Jack. It’s fine. I just didn’t realize it’d take so long.”

Castiel observes Dean, trying to see if he is lying when Dean turns to him. They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Dean smiles. The blush is gone, and he sits Jack in his abandoned chair. “You should get Cas to cut your hair. I know Sam is a lost cause, but you could still use a trim.”

Sam sidles close to Castiel as they watch Dean and Jack horse around. “Hey, you all right?”

Castiel frowns at Sam. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

15:00

By the time the haircut has lost its luster, they’ve all separated their own ways into the bunker. They give each other space to do what they want in as much as being quarantined allows them to.

Castiel sees to the bacon candle project he’s started because they have plenty of bacon grease courtesy of Dean’s infatuation with the meat product. He’s coming along with them nicely and takes a batch to Dean, who is predictably working on Baby.

Dean’s bent over the car, a strip of lacy red panties peeking through his low-slung jeans. Castiel clears his throat, wondering if he should point it out when Dean waves him over.

“Gimme that torque wrench over there.”

Hesitating, Castiel sifts through the tools before selecting one and handing it to Dean. Dean grunts his thanks as he works on the various nuts and bolts under the hood.

Castiel sets the candle on an open table and lights it, just as Sam walks in. Hastily, Castiel throws his tan coat over Dean to cover the strip of red cloth. It causes Dean to jerk up, startled. Sam wrinkles his forehead, glancing at Castiel in askance.

Not bothering to explain his actions, Castiel asks, “Do you like the candles?”

“Candles wha—“

“Oh, wow, it smells overwhelmingly like bacon in here,” Sam says, rubbing his nose against his knuckle. “It’s like you cooked breakfast for six months and didn’t come up to breathe.”

Castiel beams at Dean, who’d already straightened, removing the overcoat and frowning. “I didn’t think the garage could smell anything other than grease.”

Shuffling, Castiel shifts his weight from side to side. “But do you like it?”

Dean takes his time thinking about it before nodding decisively. “Everyone loves bacon. Except for Sammy, but he’s a freak and doesn’t count.”

Sam rolls his eyes, shaking the box he’d brought in. Castiel notices it for the first time, the standard brown delivery box, with Amazon’s smiling arrow pointing from a to z stretching over its side. “Guess you don’t want this then.”

“That’s fast, it came!” Dean says his words rushed. He closes Baby’s hood and wipes his hands on a nearby rag before making grabby hands at the delivery.

Sam relinquishes his hold on it as Dean fishes a Swiss knife from his pocket and opens the package with shining eyes. He rubs his hands together before retrieving four plastic guns, almost offensive in its bright orange and blue. The rest of the box is filled with bullets of blue foam-tipped with soft orange plastic.

“You bought Nerf guns!” Sam says good-naturedly, shoving Dean over to pull a handful of the bullets and a gun. Dean gives a set to Castiel and keeps the one for Jack.

“Come on, let’s get Jack and test these babies out.”

16:00

They’ve absurdly ended up sectioning the bunker in half, with two shirts on a pole substituting as flags. The floor is littered with the spent pellets. Dean and Castiel have taken the toilets while Jack and Sam have sequestered the entire kitchen. Jack and Castiel are worse shots than Sam and Dean, but the Nerf gun that Dean acquired has a fast reload, evening out the odds. It works more like a machine gun than pistols.

“We die like men!” Dean roars, sending shots into the hallway.

Castiel looks at him fondly, wondering if there was really a point to holding the line for the toilet. It is close to dinner, and eventually, Dean’s stomach will start rumbling. It’s a wonder what a few hours and fake guns could do to an entire household.

“I hope you’re prepared to starve to death then!” Sam shouts back.

Not surprisingly, the Nerf guns have brought about the brother’s competitive streaks while Jack and Castiel watch with amused tolerance (and cover their asses when the need arises).

Dean darts a quick glance at Castiel. “Hey, you’re totally okay with eating food off my body, aren’t you?”

Taken aback by the non sequitur Castiel parses it before replying, “You didn’t wash the dishes.”

“I didn’t wash the dishes,” Dean confirms, grinning.

“I don’t think Sam or Jack would appreciate eating off you, Dean.”

“Well, I didn’t offer them.” Dean winks.

Castiel’s eyes widen, seeing a flash of orange and blue before dragging Dean behind him. Dean’s grunt is punctuated by several pellets raining down on Castiel’s position, where Dean had been initially.

“Yes!” Sam crows in the background with high fives shared between him and Jack as Castiel sinks slowly on the floor, his back supported by a wall.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, rolling Castiel over to safety while inspecting the damage. The Nerf darts hit Castiel’s chest (they’d put little chalk markers on the rubber to make sure they know where they hit). “You took a bullet for me!”

Castiel reaches out and brushes Dean’s cheek. “I always knew I would take a bullet for you. Win this, Dean, I believe in you.”

“You know that this is a Nerf gun battle, Cas, right?” Jack asks from his cover. “That doesn’t even hurt from this distance. And you’re an angel.”

“Cas! I promise to avenge you!” Dean vows, clutching Castiel’s hands.

It steadily devolves from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerf gun wars stolen from [GreySpear’s review](https://www.amazon.com/review/R3OPSMIEWLCPCQ) of the [Nerf N-Strike Elite Strongarm Blaster](https://smile.amazon.com/Nerf-N-Strike-Elite-Strongarm-Blaster/dp/B00DW1JT5G/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Nerf+N-Strike+Elite+Strongarm+Blaster&qid=1592239482&sr=8-1)


	4. Chapter 4

19:00

They clean up and order Chinese take out for dinner. Easy fixings and no dishes required. They migrated from the galley to the elegant and antiquarian library. Dean plays one of the old vinyls as mood music, and they munch happily along with their chopsticks. Jack wanders over to the chrome blue telescope at the back of the room, fiddling at it before peeking through.

“Wooow, it still works!” Jack says, grabbing Castiel’s arm to show his find, simultaneously cranking the telescope. The ancient machine’s cogs whine as it moves to his wishes.

The three take turns admiring the night sky through its lens, and Sam immediately takes out the few books the bunker has on stars and constellations. 

Dean frowns while using the scope, twisting the knobs here and there, focusing on some faraway star. “I thought this’d be brighter.”

Castiel leans close, waiting for his turn. “Unfortunately, the more powerful the telescope, the more it dilutes the brightness of an image. It’s also more unsteady, like a zoom lens compared to a regular one.”

Dean steps away from the eyepiece. “Done some sightseeing in your time, huh?”

“The night sky was infinitely brighter and closer before man made their own lights. Men have been looking to the stars for ages.” Castiel shrugs. Instead of focusing on nebulae and other faraway galaxies, he turns the scope towards the moon, ruddy and full, it is filled with fascinating detail. “Here, try this instead.”

“Did you just give me the moon, Cas?” Dean asks when he peeks into the view piece.

“I showed it to you, yes.”

“Oh, I want to see it too!” Jack says eagerly, lining up behind Dean.

Dean graciously hands the viewfinder to Jack. Castiel turns off the lights in the room, lighting two of the bacon candles on one desk. 

“Thanks, Cas! It _is_ brighter with the lights turned off,” Jack says when he notices.

“I think it’ll get better the more your night vision adapts,” Sam says as he pulls up a flashlight from beside the telescope. When he clicks it on, it is in an unusual red instead of white. “This’ll help with the night vision when we check the books.”

“It’s kinda frustrating to find anything up there,” Dean grumbles under his breath, his arm crossed against his chest, leaning against the table.

Castiel touches his arm lightly, offering a smile. “Gazing to the heavens isn’t always for everybody. It’s more satisfying once you encounter something you’ve been meaning to see. Star-hopping is people who’re already more familiar with the night sky. For telescopes like these… I think it’s best to observe planetary detail.”

“It kinda reminds me of road trips with Dad,” Dean whispers, tilting his head up unseeing at the bunker’s ceiling. “Sometimes when we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and we’re trying to sleep in Baby, we just look out to the sky in awe. I just made up names, ‘cuz I didn’t have books to check on them. Sam threw an epic bitchfit when he found out there is no such thing as a Wanking Wendigo.”

Castiel smiles with the slight upturn of his lips, while taking a sip from his beer and watching Jack and Sam fiddle with the telescope. “Of all the things that Chuck has ever created, and will create, his brushstrokes detailing the night sky has been a great wonder.”

“Dean! Dean!” Jack waves over, bouncing from foot to foot. “I found Jupiter!”

Castiel offers Sam an unopened can of beer as he and Dean switch places. Sam fits into the space Dean left, leaning against the table, accepting the offering, and taking a big gulp. He rubs on his chest when he looks around the room. 

“We have that school dance vibe going.” Sam laughs, low and fond, slouching in place. “If the dance only had four people and had a massive telescope viewing.”

“Did you attend many dances when you were younger?” Castiel asks, examining Sam’s unfocused gaze and slight smile.

When Sam chuckles, it’s subdued. “Not really. We barely had time for extracurriculars, and we moved around a lot. Stanford parties were nothing like this. So I’m not the expert on it. Actually, this is probably more a nerdy club meeting than a school dance, now that I think about it. It’s just the music and the low lights.”

Castiel nods in understanding. “I’ve never been ‘dancing’ before.” He doesn’t expect Sam’s shove from the back. It almost topples him and Dean, returning to the tables after his turn with the telescope, over. It’s a good thing that Castiel had finished his beer, or he and Dean would be covered in it.

“Dean, you need to teach Cas how to dance,” Sam says, his drink covering his smile, just as Led Zeppelin’s Thank You plays on the speakers.

Castiel is equally surprised when Dean humors Sam. Dean puts down the beer can, takes Castiel’s hand in his, and starts a slow turn in place to the tune of the song. Castiel is acutely aware of their steps, his mouth drying as Dean pushes and pulls in the lead. The movements are basic and repetitive, culminating in a spin before they part. 

“Now we just need karaoke or a movie,” Dean says, and Castiel pointedly doesn’t look at Dean licking his lips or the quickening pulse at the base of his throat. 

21:00

When Castiel opens the door to the room, he’s always surprised by its homeyness, which is different in the way his isn’t. The lighting isn’t the harsh fluorescent of the hallways, but the soft bulbs of multiple lights painstakingly picked to make it welcoming. There are assorted pieces of vinyl in the corner, the lamp with Mary Winchester and her son’s black and white photo, and various weapons on the wall. 

It’s permanent in the way that Castiel’s own is impersonal, save for a drawer that has a lone toothbrush, and a Walkman to play the sole cassette he owns. Comfortable as opposed to Castiel’s perfunctory one.

Dean is sitting on the bed, dwarfing one side, looking up as Castiel enters and closes the door softly. “Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel removes the overcoat and drapes it across the green chair near the entrance of the room, loosening his tie. “You and Sam were in fine form today.”

“Yeah, it’s the closed space. It’s messing with our heads.” Dean sighs as he crosses over, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “We haven’t been this stationary in a long time. I miss driving Baby across the open road.”

Castiel inhales the scent of Dean, the remnants of grease and oil he scrubbed away with cedarwood, the faint leather from Baby and his jacket. It’s home in the way heaven or his room has ever been. 

“I gathered.” Castiel tilts his head, and Dean responds with a sweet kiss of welcome. He still tastes like this evening’s beer mixed with the strawberry toothpaste he pretends he doesn’t use.

“You’ve been stealing my body wash again.” Dean groans, mouthing against the stubble on Castiel’s jaw. “You shouldn’t do that if you want us to reach the bedroom.”

“You managed,” Castiel answers, turning around Dean’s arms to help him out of the layers of shirts he insists on wearing. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re wearing lacy red panties with low hung jeans.”

“You texted me suggestive text messages. In the middle of a grocery run!” Dean rasps, stealing kisses as he fumbles with Castiel’s buttons. 

Castiel grins. “Want to put your eggplant in my peach?”

“Goddamnit, I knew you weren’t as out of touch as you were pretending to be!” Dean grumbles, making quick work of their clothes, discarding them in a pile that is messier than Castiel’s own.

“We agreed we didn’t want to terrorize Sam or Jack,” Castiel reminds him as he steps out of the pants, folding it neatly on the chair. 

Castiel knows that Sam wouldn’t mind a relationship between him and Dean. Neither would Jack, but they’d fallen into bed when they both thought it was a one-off thing. So, in the beginning, it was natural that they both hesitated about telling anybody. But then, the one-night stand kept cycling back and morphed into a different monster altogether.

As it progressed to something more, it just hadn’t mattered to them if people knew or not. They haven’t been hiding it exactly, but they weren’t making a big deal out of what has always been their status quo.

“With the sex. We don’t want to terrorize them with the sex. They were such cockblocks with the entire haircut and that stupid dance!” Dean punctuates each word with a kiss across Castiel’s neck. “Wonder when they’re going to get a clue.”

Castiel pauses, tilting his head towards Dean. “Do you want us to announce it?”

Dean snorts. “You’re making it sound like an engagement. It’s ours, and it matters to us; we don’t need to announce anything. Not unless…” Dean hesitates, before searching Castiel’s eyes, “not unless it’s making you unhappy.”

Castiel shakes his head. What was there to say? That they’ve been having on-again-off-again sex since Purgatory? That they’ve been emotionally exclusive for a while that but only inadvertently fell into exclusively fucking each other since the second time they returned? It just didn’t seem important. 

Truthfully, Castiel is content with the way things are. He’s never been human, never felt the need to label things the way humans do. It’s enough that he’s with Dean now and he’s allowed to take what he wants. Dean shakes his head and pulls him towards the bed.

They really need to get a larger bed. They are not small men, and it barely fits Dean, let alone the two of them. Castiel allows Dean to pull him while he traces the freckles across Dean’s skin. They are so much fewer now that Dean scarcely spends time under the sun. If only they were truly angel kisses, then Castiel could grant more of them.

By the time Castiel collapses on top of Dean, they’ve divested the rest of their underwear and are skin to skin, sliding against each other hot and wanting. It’s a pity Castiel didn’t get to play with Dean’s lacy ensemble, but there are other times for that. Now is for Dean’s body on his. Each kiss is punctuated by moans and licks and nips across each other’s torsos. It feels heavy and full, but different from when he was completely human.

With the waning power of heaven and the slow fading of his grace, comes the inevitable sensation of being human. Of taste, of scent, of _lust_. And he revels in it, his cock filling with Dean’s every groan and nip. His hands scrabbling on Castiel’s back as Castiel slings his leg over Dean’s thigh, shifting to get his weight right and grinding against Dean’s hard cock.

Dean groans in response, and Castiel follows it by trailing kisses all over his chest. He licks one pebbled nipple and strokes downward until he reaches Dean’s balls and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Cas, _fuck_ ,” Dean gasps, and it fills Castiel with warmth to see Dean want. Both of Dean’s hands have migrated to his newly-cut hair, tugging it as he arches his back and bites his lips. It always surprises Castiel of how touched starved Dean is and how he craves to be touched this way. 

Castiel had thought that if they fell into bed together, Dean would be the aggressor, being the more experienced of the two. Castiel had been mistaken. By the time Castiel breathes lightly on Dean’s cock and sucks one of his balls, Dean is trembling, his thighs spread open in invitation, his lips bitten red. Dean’s head slams down on the pillow when Castiel toys with his ass. His back arches when Castiel’s thumb circles the rim, and Castiel’s other hand trails across his hip bone.

“Cas, Cas, get the fucking lube,” Dean gasps, his fist pounding on the bed unintentionally. He’d turned his face to the side, partially obscuring his face with his fist in embarrassment. Dean loves the sex, but he’s not used to being worshipped.

Castiel leaves with a kitten lick at the base of Dean’s cock, a trail of saliva connecting them as they part before he reaches around to the side drawer. Dean is already wrecked, his chest red, his lips swollen, and his hair disheveled from his own fingers.

When Castiel finds the lube, he couldn’t resist crushing his lips to Dean’s, swallowing their moans. Dean is rutting insistently on his hip, and it distracts Castiel enough to break the kiss and spread the lube. Castiel drizzles a generous portion on Dean’s hole, massaging his ass softly.

“You’re a fucking tease!” Dean whines frantically, throwing a pillow at Castiel’s head. Castiel chuckles, catching it to put under Dean’s ass for a better angle, before pushing his fingers inside. It’s hot and tight. Dean’s muscle contracts in hunger, a whine escaping unbidden from his lips, the tendons on his neck standing out. Castiel teases his prostate until Dean is insensate. He's grinding on Castiel’s hand and thrusting on nothing. Dean tries to reach for his cock, but Castiel slaps both of his hands away until Dean’s balls draw close, and his cock is red. Then Castiel stops and holds Dean down with one arm until he stops fighting. There’s a faint sheen on his eyes that’s both frustration and a deep need.

Taking pity on Dean, Castiel leans down and licks around his fingers still inside Dean. It causes Dean to release a high-pitched wail, rocking against Castiel’s hand insistently, pushing against both his fingers and tongue.

Castiel takes the time to inhale Dean’s clean musky scent, while licking, probing and scissoring, until Dean is incoherent, his toes curling and one knee kicking involuntarily. Dean’s hands find purchase in Castiel’s hair and try to keep him in place, but Castiel is an angel, is stronger, and is more persistent. Castiel works Dean until he’s loose and frantic. His hole is clenching intermittently on Castiel's fingers, his balls tight against his skin again, as he grinds frantically against Castiel.

Drawing back suddenly, Castiel holds Dean’s hips as the man tries to chase the feeling, gasping on the bed. Castiel grins, knowing that he will leave bruises. “You, _motherfucker_!” Dean snarls.

Possession flares brightly as he watches Dean gasp helplessly before begging, “Please, please, please.” The last plea is broken mid-hiccup. Any other day, Castiel would have extended this. He would’ve brought Dean to the edge several times before attempting satisfaction. Watching as Dean devolves into a mess of swear words is an experience but Castiel has no patience for it today.

Castiel sits and wipes Dean’s tears with his clean hand before smearing lube on his cock. Dean, restless, pulls up with him, attacking his mouth with the desperate need of someone who’s been denied. Castiel repositions himself, so he’s against the headboard, Dean climbing on to him. When Dean sinks down, Castiel controls his movements, it’s deliberately slow, holding Dean’s hips to savor the feeling. They’re both staring at each other’s eyes, their forehead rested on each other’s, breaths mingling. Dean’s hands are on Castiel’s shoulders, and he tries to slam down, but Castiel prevents him.

There are galaxies in Dean’s eyes, and his soul is as dazzling as ever, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. There is an eternity there, a lifetime. Castiel’s grace, warm, blue, and light, tries to reach for it, searching for a way to bask in the warmth of this human’s soul.

“OL BOALUAHE ELASA,” Castiel murmurs to the shell of Dean’s ear, Dean rocking on Castiel’s cock. The rhythm starts slow but builds momentum as it devolves into erratic, fast, and rough thrusts. Castiel could do nothing else but lose himself in Dean’s warm heat. Dean’s cock is red, leaking, and bouncing against his stomach with every thrust, leaving trails of wetness on Castiel, marking him. “Desperately. Endlessly. Tirelessly.”

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean lunges forward to take Castiel’s lips. 

Castiel curls his hand around Dean’s erection, thumbing the slit before sliding against its length, rubbing the sensitive underside, the pre-come making the glide effortless. His cock lurches and splutters more of the fluid.

Dean’s head falls forward to Castiel’s shoulder burying his face on the crook of his neck as he comes with a muffled shout. He clamps around Castiel like a vice, biting a fresh mark on his collar bone with the release—a brand from the Righteous Man. Castiel comes on that thought, on a quiet exhale, heat suffusing his limbs as he fills Dean.

Castiel strokes Dean’s hair as he falls from the high until they both collapse languidly. When he slips out, Dean groans and thumps him once on the chest. “You’re still an asshole.”

Castiel presses a kiss on Dean’s forehead before he gets up to get a clean washcloth and wipe Dean down. Dean whimpers from the oversensitivity but burrows deeper into the bed, already half asleep.

“They say if you fall asleep cuddling, you see each other in your dreams,” Dean slurs into his pillow.

“Is that what they say?” Castiel asks, eyebrow raised as he slides into the warm space behind Dean. Dean nods minutely. Angels don’t sleep, they don’t dream, but they can share someone else’s. Castiel doesn’t ignore the invitation.

00:01

Everybody’s day begins when they wake up—but not for Castiel. He extricates himself from the Dean’s dreams filled with peaceful lakes and fishing. Castiel dresses slowly, careful that he doesn’t make noise to rouse Dean. Before leaving, he casts one look at the human fondly, one hand under his pillow, where his favorite gun is placed, and the other thrown to the empty space on his bed, where Castiel just left.

* * *

_Bonus Scene:_   
21:20 

Sam sees the light from his phone clicking on. It’s a text from Jack.

“Do you think they’ll invest in more soundproofing if we tell them they’re loud?”

Sam covers his eyes and groans. He’s well away from Dean’s room, but Jack is just a few steps and a corridor away. Sam is happy for his brother and Castiel really, but didn’t they realize that they aren’t as subtle as they think they are? By experience, the caterwauling would continue for a few hours depending on their enthusiasm, before a prolonged silence. They’d get their sleep then.

“Sleep with your headphones on.”

Sam texts helpfully before he throws his phone back towards his sideboard. So it begins.

* * *

14:00 OUTTAKE (Because it doesn’t make sense for Cas to be teasing Sam when Dean and him are already together and the point of the entire non-admission was lack of opportunity and not freaking them out with the sex) :

“Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam fidgets as they watch Dean position Jack just right. “You know, if you really wanted to, you could ask him out.” Castiel tilts his head as he looks at Sam. Before he could say anything edgewise, Sam barrels with, “If you’re nervous, you could resort to a pick up line. He’s not going to outright slam you down.”

Castiel hums, fishing out his cellphone from his pocket before reading, “Do you come here often or wait till you get home?”

Sam groans, “No, Cas! No!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** OL BOALUAHE ELASA= I love you 
> 
> CONCRIT welcome. [Tumblr reblog](https://readingprofoundbonds.tumblr.com/post/621013359715926016/stop-the-world-from-turning)
> 
> I used a mishmash of [sinlab and ](http://www.sinleb.com/enochian/eng_index.php?callid=1)[lingojam](https://lingojam.com/APassableEnochianTranslator) for the Enochian. 
> 
> 00:00  
> Someone brought up Dean’s side table, and I just wanted to share this little shippy tangent. Dean only has one side table in his room. In one episode, (after 9x06 before 9x09) namely when Cas was human and he was sent away, Dean suddenly has two side tables (9x14). (Cas never knew about this, as he never came back while the sidetable was there. He was human and then he was kicked out of the bunker immediately.) Once Cas regains his grace(9x09), Dean’s room returns to its one side table state (doesn’t have a chance to fix this until episode between 9x14 and 9x23 though because they’re out of the bunker). Discussion and pics here for shippy things:  
> [Dean's side table discussion](https://charlie-minion.tumblr.com/post/109147050482/whats-up-with-deans-bedroom)& a closer look at [Dean's Bedroom](https://thewinchesterfamilybusiness.com/articles/article-archives/dean-winchester/19799-in-my-room-a-closer-look-at-dean-s-supernatural-bedroom)
> 
> As an aside, Sam’s and Dean’s rooms are the same room in set, just done up differently. In the same episode where Dean has double night stands, Sam has a single one, and therefore this entire conspiracy thing might just be a mistake on the set designer’s part. But, when writing fics, it’s always best to go with the shippy theory. XD 
> 
> 06:30  
> Deistel sausages have been a running joke by the cast of Supernatural since 2013. Misha has a [video shipping it](https://youtu.be/WmOAXeNBF4s) and this year, there’s a [picture of Jensen in Danneel’s IG of looking at a package of Diestel](https://itwillalwaysbedestiel.tumblr.com/post/618041069273300992).
> 
> Jared and Misha also talk about this particular brand in twitter, with Jared tweeting [“I think they put the "i" on the wrong place. No?”](https://twitter.com/jarpad/status/457298314694639616) and Misha replying with[ “Spelling errors aside, @jarpad, I'm curious, are u at the post office? is that a photo of something you're shipping?”](https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/457301721572577280)
> 
> 19:00  
> Dean and Cas dancing, and Dean and Cas “massage” was inspired by S14 gag reel. If you haven’t seen it yet... I urge you to look. It's one of the closest things we'll ever get to outright canon Destiel.
> 
> Also the dancing was taken from the gagreel which I linked at the beginning of this fic here's a GIF for you
> 
> [](https://ain-t-bovvered.tumblr.com/post/187597930535/me)  
> *[ain-t-bovvered.tumblr.com](https://ain-t-bovvered.tumblr.com/post/187597930535/me)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I wanted to write a Soulmate AU fic, and had that plotted out already was writing it...but um... it felt too depressing to be gifted, so I scrapped that and changed it in the middle. 
> 
> I was also toying like writing about a quarantine fic and travel bloggers stranded in some country buuut... Um well I couldn't fit it with the prompts.
> 
> So I hope you liked this.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Black Jewels/Spn fusion fic. If you're into Dark Fantasy please try [Prince of Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372778/). Mind the tags. 
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this, my canon fics are:  
> [Gates of Bronze and Bars of Iron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302379/chapters/5064719): Heaven world-building, pre-slash Dean Cas (S09).  
> [It’s Cas, not Cass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230871): The eternal debate  
> [Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679548): Dean's thought process with his mixtape 
> 
> I have two fairytale AUs a Red Riding Hood one: [Under the Red Hood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286178) and a Little Mermaid one: [Look at this Food (Isn’t it Neat)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368435)


End file.
